


good for you

by theglitterati



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kuroo Tetsurou has a Praise Kink, M/M, That's it. That's the fic.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27732664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: He doesn’t get it. He’s never reacted to compliments like this before, and it’s only compliments from Kenma that send him spiraling. He develops a Pavlovian response to it, running to Kenma when he does anything remarkable so he’ll tell him he did a good job.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 13
Kudos: 252





	good for you

It’s match point for Nekoma against Fukuordani and Akaashi sets to Bokuto. Kuroo jumps at the same time he does, arms up, Lev beside him. With two blockers on him, Bokuto would usually go for a cross, but he changes his mind last-minute, aims for a wipe off Lev’s hands instead. Kuroo throws his arm in front of Lev’s to block it, nearly jamming his elbow up Lev’s nose. The ball hits his palm and slams to the floor on the other side of the net.

The whistle blows. Nekoma wins.

The team cheers and Bokuto howls, but Kuroo ignores them in favour of wrapping Kenma in a hug and lifting him off the ground until he squirms.

“I told you to stop doing that,” he says when Kuroo puts him down.

“Never.”

Kenma’s leer fades quickly. Beating Fukurodani, even in a practice match, is a big deal, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t care. “Nice block.”

Two words, and he’s gone as Lev jumps on Kuroo’s back, but it dislodges something in Kuroo’s chest. He almost reaches out to pull him back.

The team surrounds him, complimenting him on the block, their words ten times more effusive than Kenma’s. Akaashi prods Bokuto until he ducks under the net and congratulates them. Even Nekomata’s impressed, telling Kuroo personally how much he’s improved as a player.

It’s the most compliments Kuroo’s ever gotten in such a short period of time, but it’s Kenma’s words that make his insides feel funny, that echo in his head until he falls asleep that night.

*

It becomes A Thing.

Their neighbour across the street gets married and invites the whole block. Despite the August heat, Kuroo squeezes into a suit, already sweating when he knots his tie.

“No fair,” Kenma says when he sees him.

“What?”

“Yours actually looks good on you.”

Kuroo chokes on hot air. “You think I look good?”

Kenma shrugs. “Yeah.”

“You look good, too.” He does, though it’s the same suit he wore to his middle school graduation and the pants are a little short.

“I look twelve.”

“Nah. You can pass for thirteen, easy.”

“I hate you.”

Kuroo’s always thought of Kenma as hard to impress, but now that he’s paying attention, it happens all the time: when he remembers some obscure detail from one of Kenma’s games, when he picks up an extra popsicle at the store. Constantly, at volleyball practice, the _nice serves_ and _nice receives_ making Kuroo’s head spin.

He doesn’t get it. He’s never reacted to compliments like this before, and it’s only compliments from Kenma that send him spiraling. He develops a Pavlovian response to it, running to Kenma when he does anything remarkable so he’ll tell him he did a good job.

It clicks a few weeks into the fall semester. They’re on the floor in Kenma’s room, the last of the summer sun drifting in the open window. Kuroo sets a volleyball over his head while Kenma does homework; somehow, he seems to have more of it than Kuroo.

Kenma catches the ball. “Help me.”

“What is it? If it’s English, you’re better—”

“Chemistry.”

“Ooh, gimme.” He takes the textbook. Kenma’s trying to balance chemical equations. “Are you scared ‘cause it looks like math?”

Kenma nods. He sucks at math.

“It’s not math. I mean, it is, but— don’t approach it like math. Approach it like a puzzle. It’s like… remember in one of the old Pokemon games, when you go into Team Rocket’s lair and there’s a bunch of switches you have to press—”

“That happens in more than one game.”

“Well, it’s like that. You just have to keep trying combinations until one works. Like, put a one here and a two there, or two ones, or two twos. Trial and error.” He hands the book back to Kenma. “You try.”

Kenma goes back to the problem he was stuck on. He solves it in two minutes.

“If my teacher explained it like that, I would have got it. Why are you smarter than my stupid teacher?”

The fluttery feeling in Kuroo’s stomach is back, but it’s different this time. Lower. Kenma’s touching him, pressed against his side, and even with the window open it’s really, really hot—

“You’re so good at this,” Kenma says quietly. 

It goes straight to Kuroo’s dick. He’s wearing gym shorts, and soon, there’s going to be a problem. “Shit, I gotta go.” He starts throwing things in his backpack.

“Go where?”

“Home. Gotta make dinner.”

“Since when do you make dinner?”

“Since now.” He spins around so Kenma can’t see his face, as if that will keep him from knowing Kuroo’s lying. “Bye.”

There’s no one else home at Kenma’s place or his, so no one sees his awkward run across the street, or the way he rushes to the bathroom and slams the door behind him. He shoves a hand down his shorts and thirty seconds later he’s coming, _you’re so good_ playing on a loop in his head. He slumps to the floor, exhausted, and stares at the sticky mess on his hand.

Fuck.

*

They don’t talk about it. Kenma asks, the next morning, how “dinner” was, but when Kuroo lies and says it was great, he doesn’t push it. 

He also stops complimenting Kuroo. Outside of rote comments at practice, where it would be strange if he didn’t say anything, there’s nothing. Kuroo thinks he must know, but if he did, would they still be hanging out? Maybe he only knows it makes Kuroo uncomfortable, but doesn’t know why. 

It’s better this way, at least for Kuroo’s sanity, but he still misses it.

A week later, they’re in Kenma’s room again, lying on the bed. Kuroo’s playing Pokemon Crystal — he had a hankering for it after last time — and Kenma’s watching, his chin on Kuroo's shoulder. They’re in the middle of a gym leader battle.

“Don’t use Swift!” Kenma says. “It doesn’t—”

“—affect ghosts, I know. Calm down.” Kuroo picks Razor Leaf instead, and the leader’s Haunter goes down, ending the fight. “Sweet.”

“Nice job.”

Kuroo sucks in a breath. Maybe if he doesn’t look at Kenma, or think about the way his head feels on his shoulder, he’ll be alright. “Thank you.” 

He gets the badge and saves the game, turning the Gameboy off. “That’s probably enough for tonight.”

“‘Kay. You remembered the type alignments well.”

“It’s only been, like, five years,” Kuroo says.

Kenma leans back so Kuroo can see his face and smiles. “Still impressive.”

That’s all it takes. Heat puddles in Kuroo’s stomach— why did he wear sweatpants!? “I gotta—”

Kenma grabs his arm with surprising strength. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t run away this time.”

“Kenma,” he sputters, “I—”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”

Doesn’t he? Because this is the most embarrassed he’s ever been. “About what?”

“About liking when people say nice things to you.”

“You know I like it?” Kenma nods. “Do you… do you know _how much_ I like it?”

Kenma glances at Kuroo’s crotch, then away. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

“Fuck.” Kuroo leans forward, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He knew he’d fuck this up. “Kenma, I’m sorry—”

“What if I like it, too?”

Kuroo’s head snaps up. “You what?”

“I like it, too.”

Kuroo’s mouth is dry. He clears his throat, tries to focus.

“It’s not _people,”_ he says. “It’s just you.”

Kenma considers this. “Good.”

Before Kuroo can think, Kenma kisses him, a gentle press of his lips. Kuroo’s too shocked to move, even when Kenma touches his palm to Kuroo’s cheek, fingers warm against his flushed skin.

“What—” Kuroo’s voice breaks. “What are you doing?”

Kenma frowns. “What does it look like? Just let me, okay?”

When Kenma kisses him again, he’s prepared enough to kiss back. He hopes he’s doing it right. He’s never kissed anyone before, beyond a quick peck in middle school. This is hotter, faster, tongues and teeth and gasps of breath against each other’s mouth as Kenma bites his bottom lip, slides a hand down his chest and stomach.

He can’t believe it’s _Kenma_ kissing him. Kenma, who he now realizes he’s wanted to kiss him for a long time.

His hand skims lower to cup Kuroo through his sweats. “Fuck, oh _fuck,”_ Kuroo whispers as he arches into his grasp. He feels like he might burst when Kenma pushes his hand down, his other one working at the drawstring on Kuroo’s pants.

“Can I?”

Kuroo knows he’d never ask if he didn’t really want to. “Yeah, okay.”

He slips his hand below the waistband, gasping at the wet spot that’s formed at the front of Kuroo’s boxers, then pushes past them, taking him in his hand. Kuroo groans at the feeling. He’s not stroking him yet, just brushing his fingers over his shaft, and it’s already better than anything Kuroo’s done to himself. Kenma keeps up the featherlight touches so long that Kuroo knows he’s teasing. Right when he’s about to complain, he grasps him and strokes him firmly.

Kuroo stifles his moan by kissing Kenma again, carefulness gone as he licks eagerly into his mouth. Kenma’s hand picks up the pace, alternating fast strokes with slow, languid ones that drive Kuroo crazy. Kenma gets the hang of touching him quickly, figuring out what makes Kuroo’s breath catch and repeating it. Kuroo almost wants to laugh. Kenma’s always been a fast learner; why would this be any different?

Kenma stops kissing him, moves his mouth to Kuroo’s ear. “You’re so good, Kuro,” he whispers. “So good for me.”

The moan Kuroo lets out is obscene, filling the quiet room. Kenma slows down, presses his other hand to Kuroo’s lips. His parents are downstairs, and the door is closed, but not locked. Kuroo nods; he’ll keep quiet, as long as Kenma keeps touching him.

“So good,” Kenma says again, sending a new jolt of heat to his dick. He throws his head back, thrusting into Kenma’s hand. It’s slick from how much he’s leaking; he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m close,” he manages between breaths.

Kenma speeds up, gripping him tighter. “You’re doing so well. You’re amazing, Kuro.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna— Kenma—”

“It’s okay,” Kenma says. “You deserve it.”

Kuroo comes immediately, soaking his boxers and Kenma’s hand as he pulses. Kenma works him through it, removing his hand only when he’s twitching with oversensitivity. Kuroo realizes when feels something wet on his cheeks that there are tears in his eyes.

He slumps against the headboard, exhausted and panting. Kenma watches him, his expression carefully neutral. He’s in jeans, but his arousal is clear. Kuroo is relieved to know he's enjoying this, too. He reaches out, stopping midway between them. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” Kenma breathes.

It’s more nerve-wracking, Kuroo thinks, touching someone instead of being touched. His hand shakes, but he thinks he does okay, because Kenma’s forehead falls forward onto Kuroo’s shoulder, gorgeous little gasps escaping his lips. He comes with a quiet shudder, fingertips digging into Kuroo’s thigh.

What didn’t end up in Kuroo’s hand is on his boxers, his jeans. He makes a face. “Gross.”

“How do you think I feel?” Kuroo’s own underwear is drying, cold and sticky.

They clean up, stuffing the used tissues deep into the garbage can below Kenma’s desk, and settle on the bed again. “So,” Kuroo says. “That happened.”

“Yep.”

“Is it gonna happen again? Not right now, I mean, but eventually—”

“Probably.”

“Cool.” Kuroo tries, and fails, to contain his grin. “That’s cool.”

“You’re a dork,” Kenma tells him.

He’s too happy to argue.

*

Things change, but not as much as Kuroo expected. They’re dating now, not instead of but in addition to being friends, but they do the same things, hang out and do homework and play volleyball and video games. They also act gross and sappy in front of their friends — well, Kuroo acts gross, and Kenma begs him to stop — and touch behind closed doors, Kuroo writhing in the sheets while Kenma tells him he’s a good boy.

He hasn’t found what makes Kenma tick yet. Sure, he likes Kuroo’s hands on him, and his mouth even more, but Kuroo doesn’t know what his _thing_ is, and he’s determined to find out.

They’re on Kenma’s computer one day, trying to find a livestream of a Serie A game. Whatever sketchy site Kenma’s using has a million pop-ups, including one featuring a girl tied up in silky ropes. Kenma’s gaze lingers, for a second, before he closes it along with the rest.

“I saw that,” Kuroo says.

“You saw nothing.”

_Oh, this is going to be fun._

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at kyrstin.tumblr.com!


End file.
